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Copy 1 A 

E U L O 

ON 
PROFESSOR OF 

l^IATHEMATiCS AND NATURAL PHILOSOPHY 

IN 

DARTMOUTH COLLEGE; 

WHO DIED AUGUST 14, 1810. 

PRONOUNCED AT THE COLLEGE, SEPTEMBER, 1810» 

25p €iijaS^an^lj, 5^. ©♦ 



<* His eye was meek and gentle ; and a smile 

** Played on his iips, and in his speech was heard 

** Paternal sweetnes?, dignity, and love. 

*« The occupation dearest to his heart 

** Was to encourage goodness. Learning grew 

« Beneath his care." — 

" Pleasure is grief but smiling to destroy, 
« And what is sorrow buttheghoft of joy Vy 



i^anober, (n. h.) 

Printed by C. W. S. & H. Speie. 
1810. 



fjartmouth College ^ OSf. 9th, 1810. 

LEV. ELIJAH PAKISH, D. t>. 

lass beg leave to return their most cordial 

'^ery solemn and impressive Eulogy pro- 

rbu on occasion of the death of their much la* 

mented and highly respected Instructor, the Hon. John 

HuJBARD J and do request a copy for publication. 

LEMUEL H. ARNOLD,! Committee in 
JOTHAM FAIRFIELD, [ behalf of the 



JOSEPH PERRY. \ Class. 



\ 



Dartmouth College y OB. 9th , 181(3^. 
to the senior class of dartmouth college. 
Gentlemen, 

I HAVE juft received your respectful request for the Eu- 
logy, pronounced on our beloved friend. That cordial 
friendship, which death has not extinguished, induced me 
to undertake the office, as a tribute due to his merit. As 
an exhibition of his amiable virtues may produce a profita- 
ble impression on the public mind, I cheerfully comply with 
your request, and am very sincerely, 

Gentlemen, 

Your respectful and 
Affectionate friend, 

E, PARISH. 
Lemuel H. Arnold,*^ Committee in 
JoTHAM Fairfield, V behalf of the 
Joseph Perrt, j Class, 






EULOGY. 

-i KE occasion of our coming together con- 
firms the truth of scripture, and demonstrates the 
uncertainty of human events. Man knoweth not 
his time, or what a day may produce. A few 
weeks since, probably, not one person present, 
fidtrered himsek^, that he had better hopes of life 
and felicity, than he whose departure we now 
deplore. A few short days since, no circumstances 
of this nature could be less expected, than our as- 
sembling to commemorate the life of our beloved 
friend, than the call of him, who addresses you, 
to lend his feeble aid in this mournful solemnity. 
So does the king of terrors disappoint the hopes, 
destroy the felicities, sink in despair the expecta- 
tions of man. Death, like a merciless demon^ seems 
to sport with the tears of mortals, to be delighted 
with their shrieks of horror, to receive homage in 
the awful silence of the tombs. The victims of 
this enemy are the human race, the weeping fam- 
ily of roan. As 7nen^ therefore, today we mourn. 
Death being the coinmon lot of all men, all men 
ar« equally interested j all men have the same 



motives to mourn his cruel ravages. Our sympa- 
thy is universal ; and to this melancholy service, 
we are impelled by a common principle of our 
nature. 

As far back as the records of history extend, we 
find days of public mourning established in society. 
With the first notice of many improvements in 
Egypt, we behold their solemn assemblies, mourn- 
ing the loss of those, who had merited the affec- 
tion of their friends, or the gratitude of their coun- 
try. Early they asserted the immortality of the 
soul, and in the most impressive manner, render- 
ed public honors to their departed citizens. Hence 
the graves of their dead were more costly and 
magnificent, than the houses of the living. Hence 
the majesty of their pyramids, still the wonder of 
the world. They pronounced eulogies on the 
virtues of those, who had been worthy citizens, 
describing the manner of their youth, their educa- 
tion, and the useful deeds of their lives. The as- 
sembly united their acclamations, applauding the 
men whom they supposed gone to enjoy immor- 
tality with the just. 

The Greeks, who borrowed much of their sci- 
ence from Egypt, were not less distinguished for 
honoring their dead with funeral solemnities, 
^ter the interment, they pronounced the pane- 



gyric. Their soldiers, who died in war, were 
not only honored with funeral orations, pronounc- 
ed by their fathers ; but these orations were re- 
peated every year. The Hebrews celebrated the 
virtues of the dead with public eulogies. Among 
the Romans it was customary for the nearest 
friends to make an oration in praise of the deceas- 
ed. If they did not choose the service, it was per- 
formed by some person, most eminent for learning 
and eloquence. Those alone were thus honored 
by pagans, v/ho v/ere renowned for their integrity, 
their wisdom, or their useful services. 

From the Romans the Christian Church very 
early borrowed the custom of funeral sermiOns and 
orations. Often these w^ere pronounced at the 
grave of the saint ; and anciently, to render the 
scene more affecting, the sacramental emblems of 
the crucified Redeemer v/ere administered on the 
occafion.* I need not mention the annual solem- 
nity in Thibet and Bengal^ to make public lamenta- 
tions for the dead,! though I think this custom 
might conveniently and profitably be introduced 
to our christian churches. What could be mors 
effecting, than such a yearly meeting, to mourn 

* See Bingham's Antiquities of the Christian Church. 
t See Parish's Modern Geogiaphj. 



the ravages of death, to weep with those that 
weep, to adapt the sermon to the circumstances of 
the various bereaved families in the congregation. 
Eulogies are the most effectual means of impress- 
ing the hearts of survivors with the excellencies of 
the deceafed. God has disposed men to this 
mournful act, that all may hear powerful lessons 
of virtue. Grief and affection soften the heart ; 
the stamp of goodness is indelible. The custom 
prevailing in remotest nations and ages of the 
world, certainly did not originate in the opinions 
of a sect, the prejudice of education, the force 
of law, or the dogma of a particular religion. 
That the virtues of the dead shall be celebrated is 
proclaimed fi'om the line to the poles by the. 
universal burst of mournful eulogy, heard on 
the death of friends. Every babe, torn from the 
cradle is eulogized in the eloquence of maternal 
fondness. Not then to enter cordially into the 
present solemnities would argue, that we have not 
the sentiments of men : it would be a kind of 
apostacy from humanity itself. 

The Honorable John Hubbard, late Professor 
of Mathematics and Natural Philosophy in this 
University, was born in Townshend, (Mass.) Au- 
gull 8, 1759. Dark and dismal was the dawn of 
that life, which h^s been so fair and luminous^ 



Five monthsbefore his birth, his father died ; and 
this in his last moments, when his children stood 
u^eeping routid his dying bed, he made use of as 
an argument of consolation to them., entreating 
them not to weep, for God had taken care of him 
when a fatherless infant. During his minority, 
ir.ost of hi§ time was employed in the labours of 
agriculture. At the age of 21, he commenced his 
studies, and the next year became a member of 
this Institution. In the second year of his residence 
at College, w hen many were awakened to a relig- 
ious sense of divine things, our Friend was one of 
the happy number. His subsequent life and death 
have proved that his conversion Vvas not imagi* 
nary. While this increases our loss, it is the best 
reason for consolation. 

In his college life Mr. Hubbard was a youthful 
cedar of Lebanon. He gave visible tokens of his 
approaching eminence. So tenacious was his mem- 
ory, that his progress in the languages was remark' 
ably rapid. While he lived the Greek and Roman 
writers were his amusement ; and with a taste re- 
fined, he was charmed with their classic beauties; his 
memory was stored with numerous favorite passages* 

On leaving College, his love of study, his de-^ 
light in religious inquiries, his devout regard fof 
the beft interests of man, led hiir* to the study cf 



s 



Theology. Becoming a preacher of the gospe-i, 
his voice, naturally small and feeble, was found to 
be ill adapted to such an employment. . After a 
fair experiment his good sense forbade him to perse- 
Yere, The transition was easy to his " delightful 
task to teach the young idea how to shoot,'' and 
form the minds of youth to science and virtuci 
Of the Academy in New-Ipswich he was elected 
Preceptor. Under his able instruction, that Sem- 
inary rose to distinction, and became a favorite of 
the public. Some who were his pupils, are al- 
ready eminent in the walks of literature. 

After several years, quitting this situation, he 
was appointed Judge of Probate for the County of 
Cheshire. This oiUce was peculiarly adapted to 
that gentle and tender philanthropy, for which 
he was remarkable. It was luxury to him to com- 
fort the widow and the fatherless. The blended 
resolution and exquisite sensibilities of his heart 
qualified him, in a singular manner, impartially 
to weigh the claims of justice and compassion. 
But this situation was not congenial with his love 
of study, and his delight in the instruction of 
youth, which was so pleasant, that he declared he 
would make it the business ef his life. Accord- 
ingly, he accepted the invitation of Deerfield 
Academy, Massachusetts, where for several years 



he continued with great reputation. After the 
death of Professor Woodward, who had from its 
origin betn an able Instructor in this University, 
he was elected his successor in the Professorship 
of Mathematics and Philosophy. Professor Wood- 
ward had an extensive and accurate acquaintance 
with the sciences, which he taught ; his ideas 
were digested with clearness ; his instructions 
were communicated with ease and preciiion. So 
high was his reputation, that a successor of com- 
mon attainments, could not have satisfied the rais* 
cd expectations of the public. To supply the 
place of such a man was the arduous task 
assigned to Mr* Hubbard. His success equalled 
the fond hopes of his friends. Here you re- 
joiced in his light 5 here he spent his last and his 
best days ^ here he had full scope for the various, 
the versatile powers of his vigorous mind. His 
amiable virtues, his profound learning, you cheer- 
fully acknowledged. Your kindness to him, 
young gentlemen, during his sickness, your respect 
for his memory since his decease, while it pro- 
claims his worth, is powerful evidence of your 
merit. Never can those be indifferent to me who 
have been so affectionate to him. Already my 
heart embraces you. Will ye enrol my name in 
the catalogue of your friends ? 



10 

Mr. Hubbard's induftry, and native energy of 
mind made him a distinguished proficient in the 
abstruse sciences. From early life he was*delighted 
with the poets, and could himself " build the lofty 
rhime." Music, the kindred att, ruled his affections 
to the last moment of his life. With what unuttera- 
ble emotions must he in a dying hour have selected 
the music for the present awful occasion ! In this 
divine art his attainments were equalled by few 
persons in our country. Animated with pure de- 
votion, enlightened with just vi^ws of public wor- 
ship, conscious of the irresistible power of musical 
sounds, to move the passions, and produce corres- 
ponding sentiments in the heart, he was ardently 
engaged to promote a just style of sacred music. 
The gay arid volatile airs which have been so long 
in vogue, he believed to be fatal gales to dissipate 
the serious thoughts, and devout affections, pro- 
duced by other branches of worship. Instead ©f 
being a hallowed coal, to purify and inflame the 
offerings of the Lord, such music extinguishes the 
fire already burning. At the head of a musical 
Society, extensive in its influence, and highly re- 
spected by all the lovers of sacred song, had his 
life been spared, he would probably have done 
much to promote Christianity, by improving the 



11 

miisic of our churches. He had a happy facility 
in illustrating the practical advantages of every sci- 
ence. He not only explained its principles ; but 
traced its relation to other branches of knowledge. 
Not satisfied by merely ascertaining fads, he ex- 
plored the cause, the means, the ultimate design 
of their existence. 

Though he has been my intimate friend from 
cheerful youth, yet neither inspired with his ge- 
nius, nor enriched with his attainments, it is not 
possible, I should do justice to his merits. His 
person, muscular and vigorous, indicated the en- 
ergy of his mind. Every feature of his face ex- 
pressed the mildness of his spirit ; never did I 
witness in him the appearance of anger. Without 
that undescribable configuration, which consti- 
tutes beauty, his countenance was pleasing and 
commanded respect. Without formality or art, 
his manners were refined and delicate j his ad- 
dress conciliatory and winning. By his social and 
compliant temper, he was calculated for general 
society. Though instructed " in the learning of 
Egypt,'* and the civilized world, he was too dis- 
creet and benevolent to humble others by kis su- 
perior lustre. His light was mild and clear, like 
that of the setting sun. He had no ambition to 
shine, or to court applause. More disposed t© 



12 



make others pleased with themselves, than to ex- 
cite their admiration, it is not strange that he was 
universally beloved. His heart was impressed with 
an exquisite sense of moral obligations. In every 
passing event, in every work of nature, the for- 
mation of a lake, a river, a cataract, a mountain, 
he saw God, When as a philosopher, surrounded 
with the apparatus of science, extending his re- 
searches to the phenomena of the universe, amaz- 
ed at the minuteness of some objects, astonished 
Zt the magnitude and magnificence of others, his 
mind was transported; when he explored the heav- 
ens, and saw worlds balancing worlds, and other 
suns enlightening other systems, his senses were 
ravished with the wisdom, the power, the good- 
iiess of the Almighty Architect. On these sub- 
jects he often declaimed, with the learning of an 
astronomer, the simplicity of an apostle, the elo- 
quence of a prophet. He illustrated the moral and 
religious improvement of the sciences ; the views 
of his students were enlarged ; the sciences be- 
came brilliant stars to irradiate the hemisphere of 
Christianity. The perfect agreement between sound 
learning and true religion was a favorite theme of 
kis heart. This remark is confirmed by his con- 
versation, his letters, his lectures. 

In Theology his researches were not those of a 



18 

polemic divine ; but of a Christian, concerned for 
his own salvation, and the salvation of others. He 
was acquainted vi^ith many of the most distinguish- 
ed writers of the church, from the Greek Fathers, 
to those of the present time. He was familiar 
with the most learned explanations of prophecy. 
His extensive knowledge of history made him a 
good judge of their various merits. His faith was 
confirmed by these enquiries. His acquaintance 
with the New Testament was such as might have 
been expected from his serious mind and exten- 
sive erudition. 

How happy for seminaries and the world, were 
^11 teachers to enforce the moral improvement of 
every science. A new era would commence, a 
new state of society would be recognized. Re- 
ligious information, thus almost imperceptibly ac- 
quired, would become the lamp of life ; religious 
principles, incorporated with the elements of sci- 
ence, become an essential part of the character 5 
religious belief and opinions are combined with 
thoughts, most familiar, with truths, apparently, 
intuitive and self evident. Such youth can no 
more divest themselves of their respect for revc^ 
lation, than they can reject the plainest axiom of 
philosophy. Their religious opinions and impress. 



14 

sions, amalgamated with the rudhnents of useful 
knowledge, become equally a part of themselves, 
with the'blood flowing through their hearts. In- 
fidelity, urging all her sophisms, and pointing 
anew her broken arrows, may open before them 
the path of worldly glory, treasures of wealth, 
shining gold and glittering gems ; a sea of pleas- 
ures, viands of luxury, and the enchantments of 
beauty ; she may swell the music of her songs, 
with the applause of the world, they are all loss 
and dross, compared with the knowledge of Jesi^s 
Christ. 

Concerning the christian charader of our friend, 
I need say no more. Ye know it well. Ye saw 
his sun, shining in meridian splendor ; ye saw it 
go down in glory. He lived with an habitual 
sense of mortality on his mind. In a letter, writ- 
ten several years since, while in high health and 

spirits, he says, " Brother ^- it is a serious, a 

" solemn truth, that we shall enjoy each other, but 
*' a few years more. Why then grudge a few 
" hours travel, to brighten the countenance of 
*• your friend, to exhilerate his mind, to impress 
" on his heart the important precept, to rouse his 
*' drooping graces, and animate his future hopes* 
" These are important objects. Do come, my 
^' dear Brother.'' 



1^ 

lie died as he lived ; his presence of mind did 
not forsake him. You all perfectly recollect ; 
you will never forget the piety of his spirit in his 
last sickness ; you will never forget his christian 
advice to his friends, his fervent prayers, his calm 
directions respecting his funeral obsequies ; his 
humble expressions of hope and faith in his Di- 
vine Redeemer ; his ineffable consolations in view 
of his approaching departure. Was there ever an 
evening of more dismay, an hour of more sincere 
sorrow, than when it was reported from room to 
room, " Professor Hubbard is dying ; Professor 
Hubbard is dead ?" Was ever the tolling of the 
bell more dismal ? In your most serious hours, in 
the awful moment of dissolution, will you not fay, 
" Let me die the death of the righteous, and let 
my last end be like that of Professor Hubbard." 

"As the heavens are above the earth, so are the 
thoughts of God above our thoughts, and his ways 
above our ways." He forms the noblest agents, 
the moft dutiful sons. They are the lights of the 
world, the pillars of the world. He breaks -these 
pillars ; he extinguishes thefe lights. We exclaim, 
^' Wherefore destroyest thou the hope of man ? 
At one time a mighty Genius arises to direct the 
destiny of nations, to chain the demon of war, to 
cultivate the arts, to be the guardian of religion,. 



16 

In another period, a celestial spirit is fired 
with apostolic zeal ; like an angel, he flies through 
the. earth, spreading the triumpiis of the cross 
far and wide. He plants the banner of salva- 
tion on the strong holds of satan. Tartary, Per- 
sia, India, listen to the glad tidings of redemption ; 
Ethiopia stretches out her hands j the isles of the 
sea welcome the faith of the gospel to their fhores. 
Anon, a luminary of science arises ; he is the de- 
light of human kind \ youth are formed to science 
and rational religion ; a golden age is commenc- 
ing. In a momemt these hopes vanish. From 
the cottage of Joseph, the Son of Mary goes 
through the villages and cities of Palestine. The 
inhabitants throng around him 5 they croud the 
house, they cover the roof, where he is ; they fol- 
low him to the fields and mountains. The lame, 
the sick, the blind, are healed ; the dead are rais- 
ed. Let a Physician go through the country 5 he 
finds no patients ; the Son of David has been there. 
Men hope that disease, and death, and misery, will 
vanish from the world. Devout souls exclaim, 
« Let the Son of David reign ; let him extend 
his travels over the world ; let him live forever.** 
While they pray, they behold a multitude ascend 
mount Calvary ; the Prince of life is nailed to the 
cross; he bleeds, he dies j disease, and misery, and 
death cover the land. 



17 

Such has been the course of events from the 
morning of time. Eden was covered with blos- 
soms ; the dews of heaven refreshed the soil ; the 
sun ripened the fruit ; the gentle breeze perfum- 
ed the air ; the groves echoed the music of a thou- 
sand songs ; the Parents of the world went forth 
to till the ground ; they united with angels in 
their hymns of praise. While they sung the ser- 
pent entered 5 Death followed ; man was driven 
from the garden ; briars and thorns start up in 
every path ; thunder and storm pour their terrors 
round his dwelling ; his children are born to trou- 
ble ; pestilence, murder, desolation, and misery, 
darken the earth ; it is the empire of Death. In 
the morning the righteous are as flowers ; at noon 
they are cut down. When mortals enjoy faithful 
agents, or obedient children, they proted them, 
they guard them, as they do their own lives. The 
ways of God are as far from ours, as the heav- 
ens from the earth. He often continues in place 
the most daring rebel, while a dutiful son is re- 
moved. In this we find a conclusive argument 
for a future state of retribution. In this way also 
God multiplies the excellent of the earth. Only 
a certain number can be employed in eminent ser- 
vices at the same time. The continuance of the 
e 



18 

^me class would preclude the rise of others. God 
removes the Teachers of a Seminary, that others 
may appear, and pursue the same track of glory. 

Occasions like the present also exhibit the rich 
splendor, the profuse magnificence of the divine 
government. How rich muft be the man, who 
casts away richest gems, and immediately repairsi 
the loss. How powerful is the Prince, who re- 
moves Generals, most renowned for skill and val- 
or, senators who are the light of the empire, and 
immediately supplies their place with others equally 
meritorious. If God tread down empires, and ^ 
quench the stars ; if he I'emove the Davids and 
Solomons of the world ; yet all things continue 
as they were. If he extinguish the greatest lights 
of the church, still the church is a city on a hill, as 
mount Zion, which cannot be moved. If he take 
away the pillars of our Colleges, still they continue 
the glory of the land. Within a few years, in this 
and a neighbouring State, these mysterious Tisita- 
lions of Providence have been remarkably multi- 
plied ; a Tappan, a Willard, a Webber, a 
M'Keen, a Woodward, a Smith, a Hubbard, 
have fallen in mournful and rapid succession,* 

* Professor Tappan died 1803. Professor Woodward^ 



If 

while their bones were moistened with marrow, 
and their natural force was not abated. Yet God 
will not fufFer his work to be suspended for want 
of agents. He can raife up children from the 
stones of the hills, from the bones of the val- 
leys. We devoutly believe, that he will not for 
sake this School of the Prophets. Its founda- 
tions were bathed in holy tears ; every piece 
of timber in her buildings was consecrated by 
prayer j the Seminary is a child of prayer, raised 
from small beginnings in answer to prayer. This 
circumstance was the comfort and hope of our de^ 
parted friend. In times of trial he mentioned this, 
as a consolation, and the support of his faith* 

Does not the event, which has summoned us 
together, loudly proclaim the uncertainty of earth- 
ly hopes ? When Hubbard dies, who will depend 
on life ? Healthy, vigorous, active, what could in- 
crease the hopes of long life ? Though remarkably 
industrious, and actually accomplishing more, than 
almost any man, he was never so recluse and in- 

1804. President Willard, 1804. President M'Keen, 1807. 
Piofessot Smith, 1809, President Webber, i8iq. Professor 
Hubbard, 1810, 



23 

defetigablc a student as some,* His exercise was 
uniform; yet his strength was the grass of the 
field ; his life has departed as a shadow. What 
then are the common objects of desire, riches, fame, 
and pleasure. These often vanish during life. 
What then is the hope of man. 

" Lean not on earth a broken reed at best, 

** And oft a spear ; on its sharp point peace bleeds, 

** And hope expires." 

To the bereaved family this breach was sudden, 
great as tha world, wide as the sea. To them and 
the personal friends, the loss is irreparable. " Ye 
that e*er lost an angel, pity us." 

In our departed friend, we have also another 
witness to establish the preciousness of the gospel 
in a dying hour. His hope did not make him 
ashamed ; his faith approached to vision. He en- 
joyed the peace of God. Death had lost his sting 
^nd the grave its victory. He knew that his Re- 

* Notwithstanding the arduous duties of his profession, Mr. 
Hubbaid published several useful works. The principal were 
a Rudiments of Geography of 240 pages, a Reading book for 
schools, and an Essay on Music. He had it in contemplation 
to publish an octavo volume of Geography, a work much 
needed in our colleges. 



n 

deemer liveth, that he should see him for himself. 
Beams of heavenly light cheered his dying room. 
All his consolations rested on the gospel ; and this 
was sufficient. Which of the heathen philosophers 
have so expired ? Socrates was agitated with 
doubt ; he was the slave of vulgar superstition. 
Hear the philosopher of Fernay*^ in his last mo- 
ments crying out, in all the horrors of a lost spir- 
it, the sparks of hell kindling in his conscience.. 
See the prince of scoiFersf in our country, like an 
angry demon, driving the ministers of Jesus from 
his dying bed. If such be the difference between 
infidelity and the spirit of the gospel, shall we not 
be clad in the christian armour ? The last enemy 
is coming ; he is at the door j he is here j are you 
prepared to meet him ? 

You enjoy, my Friends, many circumstances fa- 
vorable to your salvation. You are, I trust, ele-. 
vated above the atmosphere of low and vulgar vi- 
ces ; you are neither burthened with business, dis- 
tracted with pleasures, nor perishing for want of 
instruction. Your instructors are disposed to ren- 
der you every religious service. Still, every situ- 
ation has its dangerous snares \ yours is exposed 
to some, most insidious, often, most fatal. The 

* Voltaire, f Tom Paine. 



pride of Science, like the serpent of paradise, whis» 
pers, that ye shall be as gods among men ; it urg- 
es you not to exhibit the humility, the seriousness, 
the religious concern of common people. Unsanc 
tified science pufFeth up the heart. 

Another mor^ formidable enemy stands in the 
way of your salvation. I mean, (will you hear 
the sentence with candor ? ) I mean, that spirit of 
faganism^ which is iipbibed, by incessant familiari- 
ty with the Greek and Roman Writers. The 
youth, who is charmed with the beauties of the 
classic pages, which are his study by day, his dream 
by night, spontaneously imbibes their spirit. I 
ask ; does not every w^ork of genius transfuse its 
own spirit into the breast of the Reader, possess- 
ing genius ?* Undoubtedly the Student rejects th^ 
nonsense of pagan mythology, and scorns the whole 
rabble of gods and goddesses ; yet his feelings, in 
a great degree, are pagan ; his religious sensibilities 
are benumbed. When Death is mentioned, he 
instantly sees the dismal waters of Styx. Charon 
and his boat are before his eyes. At a funeral his 
mind is often absent ; he forgets the passing scenes ; 
his mind is on the plain of Troy, attending the 

*See Fosters's Essays, an excellent litUe volttmc. 



ifiore magnificent obsequies of Patroclus. Hef seei 
the human victims bleed ; he sees the ferocious 
Achilles glut hirilself with death and revenge ;* yet 
such is the flood of glory poured around him by 
the magic of pottry, by the enchantment of genius j 
that he is delighted with the hero, he is transported 
with the splendor of his fame. If Heaven be men- 
tioned, he instantly finds himself in the Elysian 
fields ; he is feeding on ambrosia ; he is drinking 
nectar with the gods ; listening to the lyre of 
Apollo, or entering the palace of Jove. Instead of 
being terrified as he ought by the sound of hell, 
he is amused by the fanciful woes of tartarus ; he 
Sees the torches arid the snakes of the furies, the 
wheel of Ixion, the stone of Sisyphtis, and the cup 
of Tantalus. Now introduce this youth to the so* 
ciety of Jesus, that he may see his meekness under 
abuse, hear him bless the poor in spirit, and imi- 
tate his gentle virtues. Is not violence dene to ev- 
ery sensation of his heart ? Is he not a stranger in 
a new world ? 

I am perfectly aware, that these remarks may 
excite a classic smile. Would to God they were 
imaginary phantoms ; I know, they are serious re- 
alities. It is, therefore, a religious duiy of every 

* Twelve young Trojans were sacrificed at this funeral* 



24 



Student to be guarded, of every Instructor to ^d^ 
monish his pupils against tliese dangers, the dra- 
gons of paganism and infidehty. • 

Life is ^n arduous journey ; dangers beset us all 
the way; it ends in a tremendous- precipice. The 
gulf below, no line can fathom, no eye can pene- 
trate. Those, who secure no guide nor Savior, 
plunge and are lost forever. We often pass 
through orchards of fragrant fruit ; we pluck de- 
licious clusters from the vines, which shade our 
path ; we are cheered with the harmony of the 
fields, and the songs of our companions. The trou- 
bles, we endure, would be trivial, could we escape 
the precipice ; but from this there is no discharge. 
So numerous are our amusements, we are little 
conscious of our rapid progress. We look for- 
ward, and see one after another reach the fatal 
spot, and vanish. Sometimes a parent or teacher is 
hastened on, and seen no more. We tremble, we 
weep j but while the tear is falling, we see others, 
unmoved, hastening to scenes of pleasure ; we fol- 
low J we hear the harp of joy,and again we slumber 5 
but ere we are aware, we reach the awful gulph ; 
we are in the shadow of death. Our minds are 
bewildered ; our reason is gone ; our eyes are dim j 
our lips quiver : our final step is taken | we plunge. 



25 



we fall ; we are selh no more. Remember, that 
although the palace, which is fallen, may rise ; the 
sun, which is going down may shine again ; the 
withering blossoms of summer may return with 
the spring ; but man lieth down and riseth not 
again. The grass may flourish on our graves, but 
our spirits return no more. Were the persuasion 
of eloquence, not a stranger to my lips, I would en- 
treat ; I would prevail with you, to mingle spiriu 
tial wisdom, with your knowledge of science. What 
are the abstruse sciences, what are the fine arts, in 
a dying hour ? Will ye postpone what ye intend to 
perform, what must be performed ? Will you sus- 
pend your eternal salvation, on the strength of your 
constitution, on the skill of your physician, on the 
efficacy of a medicine, on the texture of a blood 
vessel, on a floating atom, which may lodge and 
rankle in your vitals ? A voice from the grave of 
our friend speaks loud as the thunder of Sinai, 

Were his grave to open, and his gentle spirit to 
descend from his seat in glory, were he allowed 
once more to address us in the fulness of his heart, 
what would be his language ? Would he not say, 
^' Dearly beloved friends, having learned more per- 
fectly by the solemnities of a dying hour, the 
worth of time, the worth of the soul and salv?- 



26 

tion ; having learned kow serious it is, to give an 
account for every deed done in the body, I be- 
seech ycu to believe, that the fear of the Lord is 
the beginning of wisdom. Though ycu call the stars 
by name, though you underftand all knowledge, 
witiiout the favor of Immanuel, ye are undone 
forever. 

Having seen the glory of Jehovah's throne, hav- 
ing joined in the song of Moses and the Lamb, 
having heard the shrieks of the rich man in hell ; 
yet crying in vain for a drop of water to cool his 
parched tongue, I declare that Jesus Christ is pre- 
cious ; I entreat, I beseech you, therefore, to give 
all diligence to make your calling and election 
sure. The kingdom of heaven sufFereth violence, 
the violent take it by force. Ask, seek, knock ; 
the door of mercy will be opened. I wait, I wait 
your arrival on the borders of glory ; I shall be 
the first to welcome your spirits at the gate of 
heaven.'' 

Ka.ving complied with the dying request of my 
beloved Friend \ having discharged this last, last 
office, of friendship, I am seriously reminded not 
only by his death, but my own grey hairs, that I 
may never stand in this place again. Almost in- 
voluntarily am I constrained to bid adieu to the 



27 

scenes around me which have been so pleasant 
from early youth. Ye social Walks, endeared by 
a thousand tender recollections ; thou School of 
the Prophets, ye sacred walls, farewell. Farewell, 
my respected friends. Thou dismal Grave, hon- 
ored with the sacred dust^ of my Friend, farewell. 
Farewell, 



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029 909 726 2 # 



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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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